How Significant Role Models Can Be
The youngest of 5 daughters, I was actually expected (as my parents had a bet with their best friends) to be a boy. Yes, my Dad surely wanted 1 boy after 4 daughters… Guess what? He got his 5th daughter - me! Oh, and my parents lost their bet.
Yet my Dad didn't miss out much on not having a son because I grew up as as much of a “tomboy” as any girl could be. An overachiever like my parents both were, especially my Dad, I won this and won that, placed first in this and first in that - from Math contests and Spelling Bees in 3rd grade to doing the most sit-ups in a minute of any girl in 5th grade. Dad loved it.
In a tennis-playing family, I was the ball girl for many years, being 5 years younger than the twin sisters and 11 years younger than the oldest. Ball girl was a “blast” but I wanted to play tennis - the real game of tennis. So my Dad listened and started teaching me how. He even built a tennis backboard out of plywood, for me to practice on, instead the garage door. And next thing you know, I am playing at the Club, winning backboard tournaments, and playing in regional and state tournaments - and winning. I won so much that I became ranked, in the 14 and under age bracket, after my first summer of tournaments in the state of Georgia, which never happens.
Fast forward to spring of 9th grade, Dad, i.e. my coach and I were playing several times per week. Spring tennis at my school is set to start, as I am playing #1 singles and #1 doubles in Junior Varsity, expected to move up to Varsity. And the word around the Club was that, after this next summer of tournaments, I’d be ranked top 10 in the South and turn professional in the next few years. Well, Dad and I listened to that, too. We were stoked for my future profession as a tennis player, known for my “backhand down the line.”
That endeavor was cut short with a pain in my knee during the first Monday of JV tennis matches. That pain ended up being childhood bone cancer and lead to the
amputation of my right leg above the knee. Dad, with Mom, was still there, right next to me, supporting me, encouraging me, like always. He had never lost faith in my strength, in my firm determination to overcome hurdles. Even now, when the surgeon shared that I would never play tennis again, and told my parents that I had little chance to live, Dad was there for me, with me.
When Mom drove us home after a month in the hospital, which was a 9 hour drive, I exited the car, with 2 crutches, on 1 leg. I didn't even think of going inside, even being so tired from the long drive home. I had a bigger priority first. I immediately asked Dad, politely, to go inside and get our tennis rackets and a few tennis balls. With a quizzical expression, he saw that I was serious, did so, and returned to the outside with them.
Here’s the scene: Mom, Dad and I were standing outside on the turnaround. I had not even gone inside yet, and had my eyes on our tennis backboard, right there in front of us. Standing on 1 leg, I placed both crutches underneath my left arm, a tennis ball in my left hand with the racket in my right, and began. I dropped the tennis ball, then quickly moved my left hand to the crutch arm for steadiness while bringing my racket back and then forward, hitting the tennis ball. Boom! It hit the backboard and came back to me, and I hit it again, and again, and again. This went on for probably 20 seconds, though it seemed like much longer. And now Dad was MY ball boy! Seeing tears in the eyes of all 3 of us, I stopped hitting. We gathered together with the strongest hug imaginable. You see, because of Dad, my coach, my role model from day one, I was still playing tennis - on 2 legs or 1. My role model was there, still supporting me, still encouraging me, like always. And most importantly, we proved the surgeon wrong; I was playing tennis.
